


A Soft Epilogue

by insertcleveruserhere



Category: Fables - Willingham, The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Angst, Coffee, Consensual Sex, Creepy Ex, Door Sex, F/M, FWB, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Friends to Lovers, He's a piece of trash, Just enough Bigby Angst, NSFW, Reader has an ex-husband, Requited Love, Smut, Swearing, Wall Sex, Weird Ex, coffee dates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveruserhere/pseuds/insertcleveruserhere
Summary: "You know, we've had pretty shitty stories." She said, that smile on her lips faraway and broken. "I think we deserve those happy endings people keep talking about.""I'll drink to that.""It's coffee, Bigby."He smiles, though, and they drink anyway.





	1. Unspoken Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi-chapter fic I've actually committed to finishing. Of course it's smut because everything I write nowadays is smut. I hope you enjoy.

There were unspoken rules that both of them were careful to abide by. He would bring her back to the Woodlands under the guise of coming in for a drink – though the looks from Flycatcher and Beauty were more than evidence enough that they weren’t as subtle as they intended – and would rut into her until one or both of them grew tired or until the sun came up. Whichever came first. 

He’d fucked her against every piece of furniture in his shitty little apartment, he was sure, but tonight, they hardly made it under the threshold. Her back was arched against the door, left hand almost crushing his doorknob as he gripped hold of her hips and fucked her until the only thing she knew how to say was his name. Her heels pressed into his back, his nails biting into the skin of her ass.

He pressed his face to her sweat-sheened neck, groaning as he never missed a beat, pushing both of them closer to the edge. 

The hand that wasn’t on his doorknob was scratching up and down his back, sure to leaves marks in the morning. He bit and licked at the skin on her neck, pulling her closer.

Her scent was too much, a combination of some cheap perfume and alcohol and sex, and he couldn’t get enough of it as he pushed her against the door, relishing in the way her hips pounded against it, testing the limits of the age-old hinges.

She lets out a string of swears, followed by his name, and clenches around him. He groans against her skin, pulling his mouth away from her neck, taking in the way her mouth makes a perfect ‘o’, her eyes are clenched shut, and her head bangs against the door with every thrust. 

“Fuck.” He swears, feeling damn well satisfied as he finally reaches that peak he craved more than anything, especially with the way she pulled him closer, helping him ride it out. He moved one of his hands from her waist and pressed it to that little mound of nerves that drove her wild, earning an exceptionally loud moan. 

“Shit, did you already come?” He asks, feeling a little discouraged that he’d missed it. 

He pulled out of her as she laughed, helping her stand, “Don’t worry, Bigby. I’m not complaining.”

They didn’t kiss, not on the lips. Everywhere else, neck, tits, below the waist, was fair game. Kissing on the lips was too personal, too intimate. They didn’t do anything more intimate than being tossed over a piece of furniture and moaning one another’s names. 

She knew about the rumors of his unrequited love for Fabletown’s own Snow White, and he’d heard tell that she had some princely husband when she was back in the Homelands. They didn’t talk about relationships outside of one another, though they were on good terms. They were both more comfortable with regarding one another as ‘friends with benefits’.

At least when this all started. 

He rubbed the back of his neck as she went to pull her pants on, and as she asks, “What’d you do with my bra?”

“This bra?” He jokes, picking up the flimsy fabric, and tossing it over to her. 

“Yes, that bra.” She does an overly-extravagant bow with a shit eating grin on her lips, and he pretends to miss the way he watches her tits sway, “Did you enjoy my performance, Sheriff?” Her voice was low and sultry as she clipped the bra back on, and he felt it go straight to his groin. She was leaving, dammit, so he tried to think of something, anything, to ensure she wouldn’t be leaving him half-hard with nothing around but his fan and shitty mundy TV.

“Wouldn’t invite you back if I didn’t.” He grabs his pants and pulls the Huff and Puffs out, earning a huff and a puff from her. 

“Didn’t take you for the classy type, Bigby.” She makes a halfhearted attempt at humor, and though it was horrible, he cracks a smile. He gives her the lit cigarette even though she doesn’t ask. At this point, she doesn’t need to. She mutters a quick thank you as she pulls her shirt on and takes a long drag, watching as he pulls his pants on and buckle them. He lights his own cigarette, “I’ll be seeing you, then?”

He’s half convinced to ask her to stay – to have a beer with him or to go another round, he isn’t sure – but he sees the unsure darting of her eyes as she bites her lip, and he nods, “Yeah. I’ll see you.”

She grabs her purse, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, the cigarette smoke mixing with the fresh scent of sex, and it overwhelms him.

Of everything they just did, that was the most intimate. 

He sits in the chair and doesn’t bother with shedding his clothes all the way, shoving his pants and boxers down, taking his fully-hard member in his right hand, and imagines her, cigarette dangling from his lips. 

He’d heard rumors that her shitty ex-husband was back in town, some shitty prince that used to be some slimy little frog from some shitty country back in the homelands with some shitty sob story that would probably get her to come running back, away from him. He wouldn’t blame her. He was pretty shitty.

Snow was still all too infatuated with the idea of her own prince coming back to rescue her, and Bigby was convinced she was more in love with the idea of him rather than actually loving the bastard. 

Her own story was that she lost some golden ball or something of the sorts down a well, and wept because it belonged to her father. It had been her ticket to escape the cruel clutches of her father, and when she had nothing left, she cried. A frog came upon her, made a deal, and she begrudgingly agreed. She left the frog and ran back to the castle, and though her father didn’t know she left, the frog followed. The rest of it was history, a happy marriage that ended in a ball of fire because she didn’t love him and he was a really, really shitty guy. 

Two hundred years later, she was working at the Trip Trap banging the Big Bad Wolf.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, burning it right down to its stub and smashes it out on the ashtray.

No later than dawn, no pushing if they don’t wanna do it, no kissing. 

Three fucking rules, and he’d just pounded her against the door, and he was touching himself because she’d pushed herself up on her tiptoes and kissed his goddamn cheek. He wanted to fuck her all day, as long as he’d let her. 

He wanted to find out for himself how those fucking sinful lips tasted. 

They looked soft, like a princess’, and he nearly snorted at the irony of it. They curled into a smile that reminded him that this girl had not been born into royalty. She was beautiful, fucking gorgeous, and he’d had those lips everywhere on his body but his lips, and it was driving him fucking insane.

He was selfish, downright self-centered as he tugged at his throbbing dick, imagining those lips kissing his own, biting, licking, moaning. He was fine with it, for once, being the selfish Sheriff, and only wished it was something he could actually have. 

When he comes, it’s mostly caught in his fist, mind clouded with thoughts of her, her smile, her laugh, her voice, the way she did that thing when something just irritated her to the point she , and immediately, he misses her more than ever. His cheek burns where she kissed him, and he leans back in his chair with a huff, shaking his head and groaning. 

If Colin had been here, he would have annoyed the fuck out of Bigby. But, the pig was hours away at the Farm and the only thing Bigby heard was the pounding of his own blood and the slap of skin and the traffic outside. 

He lights a cigarette. Fills the air with shitty mundy television. Does whatever he can to make sure the damn place isn’t so lonely. 

He misses her. 

He puts his junk away, taking a drag of his cigarette as he buckles his belt, and nearly jumps out of his seat when he hears someone knock at the door. He swears, running a hand through his hair and smashing his cigarette out on the ashtray. 

He’s ready to curse and swear at whoever it is at the door, because even though he’d just had one of the best orgasms of the year, he was in no mood to deal with people outside of the room. 

The door opens, and he sees her standing there. The only thing he can do is gape.

“Would you like to grab a coffee with me, Bigby?”


	2. Can't or Won't

He can’t or won’t turn her away. He can’t really decide which it is, but they sit on his counter. 

Actually, she’s the one sitting on his counter, a mug of coffee in her hands while he stands, alternating between smoking and drinking the bitter sludge she insisted tasted good. She had been the one to keep his kitchen stocked with the grounds of coffee, after some flippant question about why he owned a coffee pot if he didn’t have any coffee. Snow usually had some made in the Business Office, if he really wanted some.

She looks tired, but she’s stayed up all night, what with their “activities” keeping her up since she got off work at two, so he can’t really blame her for the rings around her eyes. She cradles the cup as if it was her only lifeline, while he rakes through his mind for something to say. 

He offers her his half-smoked cigarette, and she accepts it gratefully. 

“So, you and Snow, huh?” She asks, the flippant comment nearly making him choke on the horrible drink. Why the hell was he still drinking it?

He manages to pass it off as a cough and raises a brow, “What about me and Snow?”

She shrugs, rolling the cigarette between her fingers, “I mean, I was at the Trip Trap when you two were working on the whole ‘Crooked Case’.” She does air quotes around the mug and cigarette, offering him what was left of the butt, “I saw how the two of you looked at each other.” She shrugs again, trying her damnedest to look nonchalant, “Hell, Holly sure fucking saw it.”

“You…want to stop?” He asks, accepting the cigarette.

“Stop what?” She asks, raising a brow, “Us? I mean, if you want, but I’m definitely still into you, Sheriff.”

That was gonna be some food for thought for the next few days. She was ‘into him’. That was the first he’d heard it put like that.

“What about you?” He asks, gracefully avoiding having to answer about Snow, “I heard your frog prince was back in town.” He stubs the cigarette down on the table. 

She snorts, then laughs aloud, “He’s not my ‘frog prince’, Bigs.” Her laugh settles into a smile, “He and I aren’t on the best terms, you know?”

“How bad?” He pries.

“Very.” She shakes her head as she drinks, “Our marriage was political from the start. He found that damn ball I lost, we made that stupid deal…” She sighs, “I hated him from the start, you know? But my father…as soon as he heard he was a prince, he slapped a marriage on us. We split up after the Exodus.”

“Damn.” He mutters. 

She pauses, pulling one of her legs onto the counter, “You know, we've had pretty shitty stories." She said, that smile on her lips faraway and broken. "I think we deserve those happy endings people keep talking about."

"I'll drink to that."

"It's coffee, Bigby."

He smiles, though, and they drink anyway.

“You never answered.” She finally says, and he feels like running away with his tail between his legs. Figuratively, of course. 

“Never answered what?”

“You and Snow.” She looks into her mug, almost bashfully, “Us.”

Bigby sighs, scratching his cheek, “Snow and I were never together. That fuckup prince of hers sends her letters, and she knows…she thinks they’ll live happily ever after.” The last three words take on an angry, mocking tone as he shakes his head, nearly breaking the coffee mug. 

He doesn’t miss the way she scoots a little closer to ask, “Is…that what I am? A rebound?”

“God, no.” It comes a little too quickly and a little too forcefully, and he tries to hide behind that nasty ass drink she insists tastes good. 

She swirls what remains in her cup, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“How about we have sex on your counter, sleep on your chair, and you come with me to the Trap tonight?” She hardly makes eye contact with him, but he can see the courage it took for her to ask that, how hard it must have been. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was asking him on a date. 

And just like that, it’s clockwork all over again. He knows this part of the dance, knows just what to do here. He puts the coffee on the counter, places himself between her legs, and sets to work on her neck. 

He hears rather than sees her set the coffee cup down, her free hand coming around to tangle itself in his hair as she moves her head so he can find that particular spot. 

“Bigby.” Her voice is hardly anything more than a whisper as she tugs at his hair, gasping when he bites that spot that drives her wild, and he has to stop to smile for just a moment before running his tongue over the spot that was sure to bruise. 

Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, ever closer, and her clothed heat rubs against his stomach. He groans against her neck, nails digging into her back before they find their way underneath her t-shirt. 

“God fucking dammit Bigby.” She swears as she hears the fabric tear, right down the middle. “I could’ve taken the damn thing off.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He says, “You can wear one of my shirts to work.”

She scoffs, and tosses the shirt away before pulling him back down, “Like Holly doesn’t already think we’re fucking.” 

“Let her know.” God, he doesn’t know where the fuck this is coming from. He doesn’t know why the fuck he wants her so badly, and he doesn’t know why the fuck he just wants to bend her over the goddamn counter and take her now. “Let Gren know too.” She pulls her bra off, letting it fall off the counter. 

“God, that’s a fucking mood killer.” She says, though it’s evidently not as she grabs his hand and puts it on her breast, “Imagine, Gren watching the two of us.” She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head, but it devolves into a moan as he rolls her nipple between his fingers.

“He’d probably be into it.” He thinks about those damn lips, watches as they make that perfect "o", and wishes for nothing more than to have them touch his own. 

She laughs aloud as she goes to unbutton his shirt, toying with the bottom few, “I should’ve ripped your shirt off too. Buttons everywhere. Would’ve been just like one of those trashy romance novels.” She shoots him a mock glare as he shrugs the dress shirt off.

She traces her fingers down his chest, something a little more intimate than they’d ever done, “You know I own about two shirts, right? This is the only one without any blood on it.” She smiles as she goes to kiss at the hollow of his neck, nails biting into his back.

“I thought you said I was wearing one of your shirts to work tonight.” She asks against his chest. And then, faster than he was prepared for, she kicks her shoes off, hitting the wall or table or something – neither of them really stop to check – and wiggles out of those jeans that made her ass look fantastic. He makes short work of his pants, and sidles right back up to her, grabbing her by the waist.

He shrugs, “I may have told a little white lie.” She laughs and nips at his skin, her lips grazing his skin there, as he slips a finger between her slick folds. She throws her head back with a gorgeous moan, digging her nails and heels into his back. She rocks in time with his thrusts, groaning in frustration when he curls his finger against the spot he knew drove her wild and refused to give it any more attention than that.

“You…bastard.” She hisses, pulling her hips up to meet him.

“Debatable.” He mutters against the shell of her ear, drawing a long moan from her lips. 

“Another. Bigby, put another in.” She pleads, and it’s a request he can’t bring himself to deny. 

He’s finger-fucking the love of his life on his kitchen counter. She smells like coffee and arousal and that same cheap perfume that seems to follow her around, and he wonders if it would be appropriate to get her something nicer. It seemed like something she would like. 

He hears the coffee mug hit the ground, hears her gasp, and feels the glass and drops of coffee hit his foot. He gives it a flippant look, not particularly caring about the dishware, and slips his fingers out of her, hoisting her legs around his waist, carrying her over to the chair.

“You know I can walk, right?” She asks, smiling up at him as he deposits her on the chair.

He rolls his eyes, “There was glass on the floor.” 

She laughs at him and pulls him closer, lining him up at her entrance. He pushes himself in, teasing her with the tip for just a few tortuous moments and a string of swears from her. “Bigby. Bigby. Bigby, faster. Faster, please.” She raises her hips to meet him, gripping onto his shoulder with one hand, the other slipping down to touch herself. 

He practically growls, and with a quick snap of his hips, he sheathes himself in her wet heat. They’re moaning and crying out each other’s names against one another, and the pace he sets is merciless, pounding in and out of her. She curls her toes, pleading for him, wanting him, and it’s such a pretty noise to him. He wants her to want him, to love him the way he’s fallen for her. 

She tightens around him, and he replaces her fingers with his own, drawing her to that peak they both craved. 

“You fucking bastard.” She swears, raising her hips to meet him, as way of helping him reach his own peak.

“You’ve used that one already.” He bites her shoulder as he comes inside her, “Really, I figured…you would be a little more original.”

“I added an adjective.” She jokes, watches as he pulls himself out of her, “Set an alarm and come lay with me. We’ll clean up later.” 

And again, he can’t or won’t deny her. He doesn’t know which it is, but he doesn’t really care. He’d jump off the Empire State Building if she asked her to. 

He fucking loved her, and that was terrifying.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, lol. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, sinners.


End file.
